


Someday

by ergo_existence



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, [spoilers], response to episode 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ergo_existence/pseuds/ergo_existence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freelancer plans and so on and so forth, all that stuff Tucker can't care to concern himself with. But this. The tenacity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ I had to write it, forgive me. Comments are always appreciated. ♡
> 
> EDIT: 14/04/2015  
> This fic has been uploaded to a website stealing works on AO3, ebooks-tree.com, and I'm just leaving a note here to notify to you, the reader, this is where it was originally posted by me.  
> Also, ebooks-tree.com, please suck my dick.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to talk amongst yourselves,” Carolina says, her voice carrying like the leader she assumed the role of now, the cohesive tie between the information they need and the people they need to protect. Church fades as she says this, adding a _and don’t fuck around for too long, assholes_ – something customary, something he says because that’s just them, isn’t it. A way of assuring the present gathering, the context: still the Reds and Blues bumbling about. That’s it. Surety.

Tucker watches the Reds huddle together, and Caboose leans over and murmurs _whisper whisper whisper_. It’s infuriating and reassuring within the same breath.

“Okay, Wash,” Tucker begins, turning to Wash, looking out where their destined ship – or not – had left for, moments prior. “Let me get this straight – ” he walks over besides Wash, who is deliberately not looking at him, Tucker _knows_ – “Your first idea, after hearing three options from Church, is to volunteer with a fourth _that_ happens to include you and Carolina fucking off to who knows where and sending our sorry asses back to Buttfuck Nowhere. Great job, dude. Really glad you’re our leader.”

“Excuse me?” Wash turns, finally, thank God, “The first thing I have on my mind is ensuring the safety of this team. That means if Carolina and I are better off on our own, _with you safe,_ I think that’s the viable option. I don’t like it, but it’s the best.” His body language is standoffish, that _I’m a leader and you’ll listen to me_ even though he’d waltz off with his Freelancer buddy the minute he got the opportunity to. So much for busting in to get the asshole out.

“Oh, you think it’s a good idea for us to be separated?” It’s totally not Tucker’s fault if he raises his voice with this. “Like, hmm, I don’t know, every time we’ve been fucked over, it’s been when we’re not all teamed up? I get sent to the fucking desert and I find out Church is dead. Simmons is held hostage by you when Grif and Sarge come out after _me_ with _out_ Simmons – and oh, maybe name any fucking other time us splitting up has worked.”

“I’m not here to contest your track record,” Wash calmly says. Tucker knows it’s a show he puts on, can hear the grit in his teeth. The swirl of wind that picks up around them is fierce, whips up the dirt. Tucker's reminded, briefly, of the time in the desert - but anything with this shade of dirt does that, so maybe his brain is a bit more simplistically inclined in memory association. “How many times do I have to say it, Tucker? You don’t understand. They have Freelancer tech without the need for AI’s. I know you have your sword and you’re on a high after breaking the rest of us out of the Federal compound – not that, mind you, we were held captive – but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go guns blazing on this planet to save people who are just going to die with you.”

“So you think in terms of who _will_ die – you think in like, oh, _they’re all going to die anyway, may as well save the ones I feel guilty for_? Real smooth, dude.”

“It’s not—don’t you dare insinuate that,” Wash says, a tone of steel to it. His armour was reflective of the persona Wash could quickly adopt; dangerous – a proper Freelancer. Tucker’s beginning to learn what he meant by _old habits_ and the paint job, the ambiguity of the statement. Fuck the Freelancers and their stupid thematic behaviour. Fucking Agent Washington and his guilty hero complex.

“Last time you did heroic shit, I had to lead a team I shouldn’t have had to. You’re staying with us.”

“Tucker, you know what our greater issues are at hand—look at the big picture.” Wash bends his neck down, visor at angle that makes him look undeterred on his point.

“I don’t _have_ a big picture. I know there’s you and me and the stupid as shit lieutenants who’re going to get themselves killed,” Tucker says, stepping closer, and pokes Wash’s chestplate with all the might his index finger has. “And I’m not standing around letting you fuck around on Chorus without me.”

“So then you think we should all get on that ship and leave, do you?” Wash pushes Tucker back, leaving breathing space between them.

“No. We stay here.”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“It’s what we _do_. You still—fuck, Wash, you still seem to have this idea you’re some lone wolf or something shitty like that.” He huffs. “You’re – as much as I hate to admit it – the leader, okay. You know what I said to Grif and Simmons and Caboose? When we left?”

Wash stays silent. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing i.e. Wash is planning his imminent tirade and/or lecture.

“ _Wash will know what to do_. And you know what? I didn’t want this. I wanted you to do that leader thing and keep us all in one piece. Like, back when we crash-landed and Grif was trying to eat all the rations _and_ Caboose was our CO. Shit still was okay.”

So maybe then Wash seems taken aback, for a split second, if Tucker knows anything about Wash. He regains his composure quickly though, he wouldn’t be Wash if he didn’t.

“Get your fucking shit together.”

“I told you I’ve never been a leader before all _this_ ,” Wash says, voice lower than before and placid, rifle lower than usual. “And if my first priority is to keep my team safe, then that’s what it is. And you being safe means sending you on that ship. Carolina and I—”

“Sounds like you aren’t up for this team then, Wash,” Tucker interrupts, stretching as best he can with the load of SPARTAN armour on his body. “If you leave, then you’re off it.”

“I don’t think I was on it. I was a substitute.”

“Oh my god, _please_ don’t start getting emo,” Tucker says, sounding almost – _borderline_ , okay – like a whiny teenager, not a person in the middle of a puppeted civil war _with_ evil space-pirates and all. Fairytale for the story books. “You’re our leader. Church is fucking around with Carolina and I’m not having you do that. Now hurry the fuck up and _stop_ being an idiot, for like, a few seconds.”

“ _Tucker_.”

He hits his own chestplate, this time, against Wash’s. “If I go on that ship without you, you’re going to have to fucking carry me on it.”

“Fine.”

“And Grif at the same time.”

“ _Done_.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tucker says, nodding his head knowingly. “Now, Carolina’s gonna be calling in like, a minute or something, so—quit being such a melodramatic asshole and make a decision where we’re _not_ split up, Wash.”

“Tucker—”

“You seriously don’t give up, do you,” Tucker deadpans, really done with it, really wanting Wash to _shut the fuck up, for the love of god_ and _listen_ to him. “You can’t make me go.”

“If we’re alive after all this...” Wash trails off, resting his hand on Tucker’s shoulder, like he’s actually _convinced,_ Tucker’s properly made him listen (despite the fact he’s probably going to bounce back to Self-Sacrificial Asshole with a Complex in any time soon), but then, “And we get to Blood Gulch, or wherever – Valhalla – you have 69 laps around the perimeter to complete.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Well,” Wash releases his hand. “It’s that or you go on that ship. I’m not standing around to watch you die.”

“We could all just go on it.”

“You won’t.”

Wash knows him. _God_. “I don’t know, I can be pretty selfish sometimes. At least, that’s what a chick said to me once because I wouldn’t—”

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Wash says, condescendingly so – Tucker’s quite affronted, thank you.

“You don’t have to be running towards the chance to get rid of us.”

“Better that than dead.”

“Oh my god,” Tucker mutters, then says louder, “Seriously, cut that shit out. Talk about mood dampener.”

“ _Tucker_ , we’re on a planet that’s ravaged with—how—there _is_ no mood to dampen. This place is riddled with—”

“Yeah, okay,” Tucker says, turning back around, sending a brief wave of the back of his shoulder. He catches the visor of Carolina staring at him, a harsh glare.

“Made up your mind, Princess Minty?” Sarge says from his position beside Donut and Lopez, the former humming with agreement to something Lopez has said –Lopez dramatically demonstrating with his hands, Tucker knowing it must be some joke. Something like that.

“Ugh, my armour’s not _mint_ —” Tucker tries to say, but he’s met with vivid images of Donut denying the pink colour of his own armour and, well, that’s really the last thing he needs right now. “Shut the fuck up.” He turns to Wash, for a second time - he hopes this doesn't become a _thing_. “If you raise your hand up or move forward dramatically again, I’m gonna try and shoot you in the foot.”

“You’ll miss,” Wash replies curtly.

“Whatever. I get lucky.”

They do, usually.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ Thank you for reading. ♡
> 
> Lopez is, in fact, not telling a joke. It's an easy guess as to what he may have been saying to Donut.


End file.
